He is not boisterous like his brother, not heedlessly daring as the other, but he certainly was not as sedate as the last. Antares was himself a Prince, all of those things in one body and able to race down the very winds if he had a mind to wear them down. He had only to begin his run and he could run until the sun had risen and set and the moon turned its face from him entire.

Tonight, though, he ventures out of the usual place, the land that bordered the Desert, as he had come to realize. Not entirely borderguard and not entirely not either, it was a circumstance that suited him. Some importance without all the pomp and circumstance that his title had forced him to inherit in his own home. The east, though, had been bartered without him because Rigel was known to have a greater understanding of such things as the worth of earth and placement in kingdoms. He craved less of the flattened desert and more of the dunes he was accustomed to.

That is what finds him in all his wildness and unburdened leisure this night, racing the Eastern Wind as it sought to venture westward. Not a soul had seen him so free as he looked this night. Not the wild mare Indira, not the courtesans of the Red Earth faction, not the harems of his family’s vast kingdom, not even his brothers - for indeed they would have been the first to laugh if someone spoke of his careening galloping. He heads over the ridges until the gulleys of the dunes call to him--

He is caught amidst his heart-bursting, sand-billowing best when he, shining in antique rose and bloodmark red, comes near on to collision with a woman painted not unlike himself in the antique rose coloration but hair as night and her tail bejeweled with starry moonlight. Her blue eyes are striking, and he slides into an impromptu levade and out of her direction with quick response so that only her lower legs meet with the resultant flying sand.

“Wahidat Jamila, forgive my carelessness.” he says before his feet even return to the earth, his voice strained with his exceeding speed arrested into a full halt. “I was not listening for wanderers beneath the dune peaks as I ought to have been.” He owes her respect because Maslakhat would not have missed her coming and thus she must be welcome as his guest and due the protection expected of him. “What sends you out alone tonight? Do the dunes call to you as they call to me?”